


Blood Bubbles Sex Magik

by Kyonomiko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bubble Bath, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Mutual Pining, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sex Magic, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/pseuds/Kyonomiko
Summary: Lock a couple of teenagers in a posh bath with no way out but a little sex ritual and see what happens.  No mystery here, just a means to an end.  Maybe to a beginning if they're lucky.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 47
Kudos: 266
Collections: Best of DMHG, Box of Chocolates





	Blood Bubbles Sex Magik

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Box_of_Chocolates](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Box_of_Chocolates) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Fuck or Die - Bubble Bath - NSFW
> 
> This was meant to be a short PWP but as always, the feelings got away from me. I do not own Harry Potter, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, or a box of chocolates

"Two options, Granger, blood or sex. I know which one I favour."

Hermione huffs at such a ridiculous remark. They've been going 'round and 'round about this for hours, and tension is high. With less forethought than might be warranted she snaps back, "Obviously. I'm hardly going to let you make me into a Mudblood sacrifice, am I?"

Draco Malfoy's eyes narrow at her. "Maybe I should be more concerned about you taking out retribution on the war criminal, if we are back to that. Either way, I don't think Blood Magic is a very attractive option for either of us."

Laying her head back against the wall behind her, Hermione releases a sigh of frustration and exhaustion, and maybe just a bit of regret for her words. She's been trapped in the Prefects' Bath with Malfoy for hours at this point. The wards on the door have stopped answering to anyone, students or faculty, and the pair had taken it upon themselves to figure out the situation. As Head Girl and Boy, she had argued, it was their responsibility to look after the safety and comfort of the student body, and who better to study the wards than the top two students in their class?

It had started as two weeks of research, bickering over theory in the library as Pince shushed them repeatedly, hotly debating options over butterbeer in Hogsmeade, outright fighting in the Great Hall as their friends tried to shuffle them to their house tables. It's been a rough partnership, fraught with mild antagonism and petty jabs, but they have also evolved into something almost civil on their better days. The war is getting smaller in her metaphorical rearview, the months stretching on and Hermione's final year at Hogwarts coming to close.

And while they do still bicker and argue and debate, there have been moments of almost friendship. There were apologies, gruff at the start and more sincere as the weeks wore on. Hermione has seen a more thoughtful Draco this year. Not anything as dramatic as "humble", but he is certainly less quick to anger, slower to put himself in the center of things. Maturity, she would suppose, is one way to describe it. He's still a dreadful snob, but she never really minded that much. Classism is hardly unique to the Wizarding world. As the daughter of middling wealth, she understands that he is far more privileged than she, but not in a way that makes her anxious or envious.

Not to mention, with the Ministry career she is already pre-building for herself, Galleons are likely not to be in short supply in her future.

But the cruelty? The hatred? Of that she has seen very little since their return to the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Her own 'Mudblood' comment a moment ago was probably uncalled for.

Alright, fine, it was completely out of line. Why he brings out the worst in her is either latent animosity from years of bullying... or sexual tension.

Which brings us quite nicely back to their current situation and the possible way out that makes her stomach clench in a mix of nerves and anticipation.

"You're not a war criminal," she offers, a little woodenly. She should probably apologize, but her frustration doesn't allow it. He will have to take this paltry olive branch and like it.

"And you're not... what you said."

She laughs a little and looks his way. "I am actually, but thank you for the sentiment."

Draco grimaces at her, screwing up his handsome face, grey eyes a window to his many regrets. "You know what I mean. You might be what you are, but that word means a lot more than Muggle heritage."

"I know." She softens her voice and her features, and somehow this is just the way they work. Rarely with overt apologies, but always with rich meaning and sincerity. She looks away, unable to hold his gaze.

No wonder there's tension. When he looks at her that way, it's easy to forget just how unlikely the pair of them are, the animosity and fighting falling away as she gets lost in all the things he means between his words. Maybe the arguments, the fervent disagreements, are born of a mutual desire for another type of passion altogether. Unlikely, of course. Hadn't she just seen him smiling at a giggling Greengrass sister last week? Did he not cancel one of their study sessions to "tutor" Pansy in Charms?

It's a road she doesn't like her mind to travel down. What he does on his time is no business of hers, and she has no claims to him. Regardless that, in secret, sometimes she wishes she did.

"We could... I mean, don't you think we should at least discuss it?"

Straightening her skirt with purpose, mostly that purpose being to keep her hands busy and her eyes down, she mutters, "I'm just not sure it's a good idea."

"It was _your_ idea," he reminds her, somewhat forcefully, and she can't deny that to be true.

It _had_ been her idea, initially. Days ago, the usual ward application and breaking techniques not working, she had offered two options, one a joke, a bit of black humour, the other maybe born of wish fulfillment: Blood Magic and Sex Magic. Not quite Dark Magic per se, but both frowned upon for certain and under a general suspicion by the Ministry. Blood Magic in particular, while not requiring a life be given, is increasingly effective the more lifeblood provided.

Sex Magic is another thing entirely. Hermione actually has some very lofty notions about why exactly it has been nearly severed from acceptable magics. She mostly thinks it has to do with a patriarchal society not approving just how empowering it is to witches in particular. The Victorian sensibilities of the Wizengamot, and wizarding society in as a whole for that matter, leave many in power clutching at their pearls at the very notion.

Why had she brought it up then? Maybe in part to throw some of the pureblood heritage Draco was raised to have so much pride in into a harsh light, showing it to be prejudiced not just to Muggles, but to magic itself.

And maybe, just in a small part, to test the waters as it were. To step a toe into the liminal space between friendly and flirtatious and see how he would react.

She had miscalculated entirely. He neither clutched pearls nor declared romantic intentions, but only offered a smirk and a quip like she couldn't possibly be serious.

Like Hermione Granger and sex couldn't possibly be categorized within the same tome of his mental library.

So she had licked her wounds internally and not brought it up again. Now here he is, like it's nothing, asking her to consider an option she would have jumped at before his complete disregard for the idea. Of course, it wouldn't do to give him any type of upper hand or show just any of the tender feelings that are bubbling beneath her surface. Hermione is a war-hardened, pragmatic, intellectual, and she will not be left wrong-footed.

"You know, when I mentioned it last week, you didn't seem to find any merit in the idea," she answers back, somewhat defensive despite her attempts to seem unaffected.

"Yes, well, last week we hadn't been stuck in this room for the entire day, either." He pauses for a moment and then ponders, "Do you think anyone even misses us yet?"

She considers that. It is completely possible they could go until Monday before anyone even realizes they are not where they should be. They embarked on this little adventure late on a quiet Friday before a Hogsmeade Saturday. Most of their friends had plans at dates or shopping or just casual social interaction, but they had both begged off, claiming Head duties. They share a dorm, so no one would assume them missing at curfew, and they had neglected to tell McGonagall of their intent to put into action some of the ward breaking spells they wanted to try. In hindsight, not the most forward-thinking of plans.

Initially, she was sure they had figured it out, gaining access to the long, empty baths. However, once in, they could no longer leave and have been stuck here ever since.

The Prefects' baths are a truly luxurious place. A deep soaking tub that seats ten, comfortable lounge decorated in creams and gold, private loo dedicated to each of the four houses, all drowning in artisan tile work and plush fabrics. They are fortunate that their time spent has hardly been difficult. Always armed with her beaded bag, Hermione has enough in the way of Muggle snacks to keep them alive for a couple of days. Old war habits die hard, it seems.

But the fact remains that they are stuck, and they are unlikely to be unstuck for at least another few days as no one knows how to get in even if they knew to find them here. They aren't desperate yet, but their situation could become dire over time.

Not to mention, luxurious or not, it's hard to get a full night's rest on a fainting couch.

"Try Winky again?" He's asked this at least three times, but neither of them have been able to call for an elf. Whatever breakdown happened to these wards, they are now the most secure place in Britain. If Hermione could duplicate the spell casting, she could market it for a fortune.

"Winky?" A pause, and nothing.

"Pipsy?" Draco has called for his elf many times as well to no avail.

A quiet settles over the pair of them. She wonders if she just doesn't bring it up, doesn't rise to his bait, if Draco will forget about the ritual she found in the Restricted Section. The ritual that requires mutual release, the flow of water, and a setting sun. If they are going to try to rescue themselves before anyone knows what happened, it could happen very soon to catch the end of this solar day. Thankfully, he seems to have dropped the ide-

"So, no sex then?"

Hermione groans in exasperation. His tone is a bit cheeky, but she's finding it increasingly hard to make light of the option, drudging up some of her deep buried truths that it is. "Why are you suddenly a dog with a bone about this? That hard up are you?" She sounds harsh even to her own ears, but her discomfort often has a tendency to vent by way of haughtiness and biting remarks.

"Hardly the fucking point," he murmurs, looking away. Then, "Do you want to spend the foreseeable future in here? You know, N.E.W.T.S are in a couple of weeks. Heaven forbid you miss out on anything important." There is a sarcasm there she absolutely does _not_ appreciate.

"You're just as concerned about your scores as I am," she counters, dragging herself up from the floor, stiff from sitting, defeated, in one position for the last hour. Her robe, shoes, and stockings were long ago discarded in a bid to be more comfortable, and her bare feet feel the slight chill of stone pavers that surround the bath in a decorative mosaic.

Hermione paces a bit, looking around the corners of the room and the seal of the door and windows as if she hasn't a dozen times before. She thinks Draco may be watching her, but he doesn't comment, so she steadfastly ignores him.

Her thoughts spiral into what ifs and maybes and all the possible fallouts if they even talk about doing...

Exactly what she, only last week, suggested that they do.

"Have any more of those kitty cats?"

"What? Oh, KitKats? No, sorry, I only had one."

"A shame..." he says, and Hermione can't help but grin a little at his boyish disappointment. "Any other Muggle delicacies you're looking to share?"

With a bit of a snort, Hermione makes her way to her bag. "You could just say you're hungry. Ask for something like a normal person."

He grins at her. "I'm appealing to your desire to help the victims and downtrodden. I'm starving, Granger. Wasting away." His dramatics know no end, and she laughs in spite of herself, tension easing as it always does.

Tossing her bag onto the counter of a sink, Hermione gathers her curls into a bun atop her head, tired of them falling in her face as she looks down. Rifling through the bag, her arm disappears up to her elbow like some curly-haired Mary Poppins with her magic carpet bag. The image is amusing, and she is smiling to herself as she digs around, feeling her fingers brush various containers and packages until they close around the telltale triangular shape of Frank Granger's favorite candy.

"Here, try a Toblerone; my father loves these. It's from Switz-" Draco is in her space, front nearly pressed against her back, and she finishes much quieter than she started, "-erland."

"If we were to consider it," he says, equally soft and watching her face in the mirror before them, "We should at least discuss how it works. The ritual."

"It's... it's um, fairly straight forward." Hermione braces herself, holding a breath, in the wake of the electricity racing through her veins. Has he been this close before? Objectively, sure. They have been seated at desks in the library so close their knees nearly touched. They have shared a sofa in their Heads' commons, less than the width of a person between them.

But this is different, and they both must be aware of it. He's close, yes, but he's also holding her gaze in his, captive and profound. If she rotated in place, she could press her lips to his chest, his tall stature making them the perfect mismatch for sensual exploration; he curving down to her, she reaching up for him, the mutual effort it's own equality.

She is aware of his long form, casually dressed, robes long discarded, top two buttons undone. She imagines she can feel the brush of his trousers against one of her legs, bare from her feet up to her skirt. The fabric between them, the layers between them, having been shucked over time without even realizing where it could all lead.

Not to mention, he just asked her to describe to him in detail the sex they are considering they might have.

"The water, that's a conduit. Conveniently, we are trapped in a bath," she adds with a smile, trying for levity, but his face remains, not passive, _never_ passive with that heat in his eyes, but stoic. He absorbs her words with rapt attention, so she continues.

"You and I would... Well, we would couple together, of course. There are words, basic ward dismantling, but we would be combined. So our spell casting takes on the power of each other. Our united magic would increase with time, so it would be better if we continued after the ritual is finished. Ideally to...completion."

A slow smile spreads across his face, devastating grin and humor in his eyes reminding her just how handsome he is, reminding her of the various times she thought that over the past weeks and quickly snuffed it out as silly unattainable fantasy. "Surely you don't expect me to remember to recite some muddled old Latin while I have you wrapped around me."

"I..." Hermione clears her throat, startled as he lays a hand on her shoulder, thumb running a delicate line down the side of her neck. "It's a short incantation," she finishes, trying for her usual tone of confidence and knowledge. "Swotty" he calls it when he is being playful. And he has been, come to think of it. He's been incredibly playful the past two weeks. Not when they were bickering of course, but in between...

"Tell me," he says, voice assured, but somewhere between a request and a command.

"Resignare Liberidum."

He steps away from her then, and she can't help the disappointment, some of the charged air seeming to follow his departure. She turns around to watch him as he snags his wand from his robes and points it at the taps of the bath. Warm water flows from the multiple faucets and fragrant bubbles mound over the surface.

"I don't want to be trapped in here another night. Do you, Granger?"

As she says this, he unbuttons his cuffs and her mouth goes dry; strong sinewy forearms and creamy skin greet her. Harry had always been sure Draco had been Marked, but he is perfect, unblemished. He hadn't been worthy of it, he had told her earlier this year, the idea of "worth" spat with bitter sarcasm. The Dark Lord had withheld the skull and snake, thinking it would make Draco try harder, be more loyal. Instead it had given him a physical cleanliness when he started seeking redemption.

He's staring at her, and she realizes he asked a question. "No... I'd rather like to get out," she says, and she fiddles with the top button of her own blouse.

"Come here, Granger." There again: the soft authority. The underlying request. Hermione's lips part, her tongue wetting them slightly as he tracks her movements.

She approaches, a little cautious, and stops just in at his reach. He steps forward, crowding her space. "Tell me the words again, please."

"Resignare Liberidum."

Keeping his eyes on hers, Malfoy fingers her second button, watching for reaction. She doesn't discourage him, and so he unloops that one and moves to the next by touch alone, never looking down as he talks and only darting his glance between her eyes. "Resignare Liberidum," he says, melodic, like reciting love poetry in a foreign tongue. "Did I say it right?"

"Yes," she confirms on an exhale, and he is on button number three, the open air tickling at the cleavage now revealed.

"Do we say it together?"

Button four, and she nods. "In the water. We should be in the water when it will really matter. No wands, the element will channel."

"You should take off your skirt. So it doesn't get wet."

Her world tilts a little, and Hermione blinks herself out of whatever trance his voice started to put her under. "Wait, so... You think we should? You want to do this?"

With reverent hands running the path of her arms, up to her neck and settling beneath her jaw, he locks his intense gaze once more to hers. "Oh, yes. Yes, I absolutely do." There is a bit of a growl in his voice, and Hermione believes him implicitly.

He steps away from her and resumes work on his shirt, her own blouse hanging open to reveal her lacey lavender brassiere. Hermione swallows and watches as he shucks it off, leaving his torso exposed and unfairly beautiful. Not overly chiseled, but lean and tight, the faintest outlines of bones and muscles adding texture to his alabaster skin. Perfect but for the faint pink line that nearly bisects his chest. Without thinking, Hermione reaches to run her finger along the scar, knowing full well what it is.

"Did a number on me," he whispers down to her. She doesn't answer immediately, a thousand responses fighting for use of her tongue. Does she apologize for Harry? Does she remind Draco she has forgiven him for his part in the war? Visually, perhaps he is self conscious. She could assure him that it hardly mars the beauty of his form. Before she can decide, he offers, "Hermione, are you alright with this?" as though her hesitation was born of preemptive regret. There's vulnerability in him, something she has known but is rarely allowed to see.

"We could try to wait it out, I suppose, but..." Punctuating the rest with the zip of her skirt, she lets it drop to the floor at her feet and finishes, "I've never been one to let someone else rescue me."

His eyes gone a bit wide, it seems she has surprised the charming, usually unflappable Slytherin. He shakes himself out of it fairly quickly, however, and races to undo his own trousers, kicking them off his feet.

Hermione allows her shirt to fall from her shoulders, and they are both down to their skivvies.

Draco takes in a deep breath as he looks her over. "I like that," he breathes out. "Fuck, you look good in lavender."

With a playful head tilt, she asks, "Aren't you supposed to follow up with some terrible line that I'd look better without it?"

"Please." He sneers, a look of mild disgust on his face in contradiction to the humor in his voice. "As if I'd ever be so trite."

She giggles and hates herself a little for it. Hermione Granger does not giggle, yet here we are. Neither of them moves for a long time. With a glance at the windows, she gestures to the setting sun. "If we're really doing this, we should... That is, we are almost out of time." Her bravado is slipping. Teasing Draco is invigorating, but the idea of what they are about to do is still enough to set her nerves on edge.

"We could wait until tomorrow if you'd rather. See if anyone opens the door. I don't want to rush you." The earnest look on his face is enough to melt her down to her toes and manages to steel her resolve as well.

With a shake of her head, she admits, "If we wait, I might lose my nerve. Maybe we could get in the bath now? With a bit of clothing still intact." She gestures to her matching lilac lace and then towards the bath, keeping her eyes trained on the water, bubbles swirling and popping above the surface.

He leads the way, reaching the edge of the soaking tub, which is basically and without hyperbole a small pool, and stepping inside. He backs up away from the entrance, cutting a path through the water and bubbles and leaving her a respectable distance so she can also climb inside. Hermione approaches with purpose, nerves sparking under her skin, and keeps her eyes trained on Draco's face. He watches her closely, gaze darting from her eyes to her body, lingering but always returning to her face. He licks his lips as she lowers herself down, bending until she is up to her shoulders in the warm bath.

He has backed up to the edge and calls her over. "There's a bench here. We can sit."

She makes her way over, the lace of her underthings feeling heavy, weighed down and unnatural. The bubbles hide much of what is below the surface, so it is no longer quite so necessary for modesty, but the idea of being close to him, brushing against him in the water, leads her to think she's not entirely ready for her skin to be completely uncovered. Not just his eyes, but now his hands will have access to her. Hand and arms and all of him, every strong and alluring part of him pressed against her own soft curves.

Before she knows it, she is in his space, ducked low in the bubbles and within reach of him, his knee brushing her waist. She realizes he has his legs parted and she is tucked between them. Intimate doesn't even begin to describe this moment, and all she can do is keep her eyes on his.

"Should we..." she starts to ask if they should kiss. Or maybe she wants to ask if they should talk about it more. Or should they take off the rest of their clothes? She wants to ask a lot of things, truthfully, but lets it hang between them, his guess as good as hers as to what they should or should not do.

His hand reaches for her, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. "You have a lovely neck," he whispers, reverent. "How was I supposed to resist this?"

"My neck?" she asks, clarifying.

Draco moves his eyes back to hers and shakes his head. "All of it. You."

"It didn't seem difficult," she says, incapable of ignoring the hurt of it this time. "Last week, you didn't seem to find this prospect tempting enough to consider."

There is surprise, a widening of his grey eyes. "And were you serious? If I'd said yes then? Jumped at the prospect like some sort of letch, you would have agreed readily?"

"I'm not in the habit of saying things I don't mean." Hermione isn't sure where this boldness came from, but she needs something from him right now, some honesty, she would suppose. She needs to know exactly what this is so she can decide just how much she's allowed to enjoy it. And just how much of a fool she is for allowing a seed of hope at his hungry gaze and delicate touch.

"Fuck, Granger, how was I to know it was anything more than your usual, thorough research? You rattled off the option like you were listing the ways to dissect a doxie wing, not like you were offering something bloody profound."

"Well, you didn't have to be cruel about it," she counters with a haughty little _harrumph_.

"How in Merlin's name was I cruel?" He stacks up his own indignation against hers, and they are glaring at each other mildly, Hermione having nearly forgotten she is basically straddling his knee in nothing but her best Chantilly knickers. This heat between them, short of animosity but edgier than playful, this is familiar and comfortable ground.

"You basically suggested the entire idea was ludicrous. It was impressed upon me fairly effectively that the likelihood of you coming anywhere near me was a study in the surreal."

"Because I assumed you'd hex my fucking teeth out, Granger, not because I don't want to," he roars back, hands settling none too gently on her hips and pulling her closer. She ends up with her legs on either side of him, her knees on the bench, and his hands splayed across her back. She's positive that's not a rabbit in his pocket either, as the saying goes.

Experimenting, testing, Hermione lowers herself just slightly against Draco's lap. He hisses through his teeth immediately, and her confidence soars. She still doesn't entirely understand why he brushed off the idea days before, but any doubt that he finds her attractive withers in the face of strong evidence to the contrary.

She shifts again, gently. She could be simply seeking a comfortable position for all knows, hardly grinding against him, but his response is immediate. Hands tightening at her back, he releases a rattled breath. Hermione feels him shift, subtly meeting her pressure with his own. She moves again, purposeful, face dropping closer to his until their foreheads are pressed together and they are breathing hot against each other, panting. His eyes are on hers as his hands move down the curve of her waist to settle at her hip bones, thumbs tracking over her skin.

"Have you ever..."

She looks at him in question for only a moment before she understands. His words seeming to have failed him, she's not sure if he's nervous to ask or nervous as to her answer. She nods and whispers, "Yes." Is he relieved? Disappointed? She can't quite tell, so she turns it around. "You?"

He hesitates before he confides, "With Pansy. It's uh… it's been awhile."

Why he felt the need to name his partner is unclear, but he doesn't ask for the same in turn, so Hermione files away her own short list.

Plus, if he's to be believed, perhaps his study sessions with other witches really have been just that. The effect of that realization is relief that is palpable, regardless that she had supposedly convinced herself she had no right to jealousy.

This brief conversation has slowed their climb, the tension hitting a plateau, a truce, their movements stilled. Now, the fever is racing through her again, and they are seeking friction, moving in a rhythm she might be surprised they so easily found if she had the capacity for such analytical thinking. Instead, she is reduced to a desperation she's hardly known. Her hands seek purchase, grasping the hard angles of his shoulders, the corded column of his neck. Hermione is vaguely aware she is making soft sounds, gasping and sighing with each strangled inhalation, with every harsh exhaled breath.

"Holy fuck, Granger." It's muttered, reverent, and then his lips press roughly against hers, barely giving her time to process before his tongue is shoving its way between her lips.

The sounds she makes intensify, no longer so reserved but muffled against his mouth. He swallows every gasp greedily, kissing her so hard she has to warp her arms around his neck, pulling him close as the force of him threatens to push her away.

Whatever could have been an accidental brush of bodies can no longer be denied or apologized away as a mistake. Draco is moving his hips faster, one hand guiding her by her waist, the other tight at the back of her neck to keep her mouth on his. She could be lost in this. All the months of antagonism and bickering have culminated into such profound release she can't imaging it leading anywhere else. There's a feeling of gratitude for faulty magic, appreciation for all the oddities of Hogwarts that have led them here.

"The words," she whispers, pulling her mouth away to speak as he chases her, searching to bring her back.

"What words," he mutters, grinding particularly hard against her. For a moment, Hermione isn't quite sure herself.

She moans, nipping at his mouth, before she remembers. "Resignare... oh, Merlin... Resignare Liberidum."

"I don't know," he says, suddenly the playful Draco she has come to enjoy during quiet Sunday evenings in their dorm. "What if I forget them and we're stuck here?" She feels his lips grinning against hers. "Might have to try again tomorrow."

Hermione starts to laugh, charmed by him, but he's on her again before she can make much more than a surprised sound.

Behind Draco's head, the light of a waning day is growing pink and gold, filtering through the glass and warming the room. His responses had given her hope, the possibility of her ill advised crush finding reciprocation, and she counters his comment with an offer for more.

"I don't particularly want to sleep on the fainting couch again," she says, trying to concentrate as his lips trail to the tops of her breasts, tongue tracing a line across the eyelashes of French lace. He's incredibly distracting...

She tries again as his tongue dips into the valley and runs back up over the round of her cleavage. "We could get this ritual done and just continue this in an actual bed."

That somehow holds a lot of power over his attention, and Draco stops to look at her. A slow down devilish smile crawls across his face. "Now that must be why they call you brilliant. Best fucking idea you've ever had."

His tongue is back down her throat before she can consider a response.

What had started as a slow build, cautious touches, full of questions, reaches frantic heights after that. Draco no longer seems hesitant to touch and explore, his hands sliding to her breasts, cupping them as his thumbs circle over quickly hardening peaks. Hermione keens, whimpering into his mouth and grinding harder down onto his lap. She swallows his following moan in turn.

She can feel him sliding against her, hard as granite and perfectly positioned to run the length of her slit. The silk between them has become an incredible irritant, and she pauses, pulling away. His mouth tries to follow her, but she climbs from his lap and retreats a few steps into the water, hands disappearing beneath. He watches her with interest, mild concern morphing as he seems to realize what she's doing. Draco takes the cue, shimmying his lower body as Hermione assumes he is shucking his own final bit of clothing.

She tosses the knickers to the side of the bath, and they land with a soft wet sound on the tile floor. As she approaches, he is reaching for her, gathering her into his arms and pulling her back onto his lap.

Now she can feel him fully, her sex settled against him, his cock twitching at her touch.

"This too," he says, and he is fingering the strap on her shoulder.

Reaching behind her back, she finds the short line of hooks and eyes, releasing them in one swift and practiced movement. He watches, eyes bouncing between her face and the cups of lace and satin hiding her from view. All the while, she has kept a rhythm of her hips, gently sliding against him.

When she doesn't do anything more, he looks back at her in question.

"Go ahead," she invites, arching her shoulders so that one strap slides partially down.

Rather than move to the straps as she anticipated, Draco instead runs his hands from beneath once more, this time forcing fingertips beneath the edge and sliding his hands over her skin. Under the cups, he is kneading her carefully, pinching her delicately. He lowers his head and mouths at her over the lace, making her quicken her pace once more, moving against him.

Finally, he has his fill of teasing her, nearly ripping the straps from her arms and revealing her fully. Immediately his lips are wrapped around her, tongue flicking at her nipples. He alternates, taking each into his mouth as his fingers keep the other achingly hard and ready. Hermione works herself against him harder, using him and chasing completion, the ritual almost forgotten.

"You're fucking killing me," he rasps, nipping at her around the words. "If you don't let me fuck you now, I swear to Merlin, I will _literally_ die."

Hermione giggles into his hairline, laying a kiss at his temple. She directs him gently, moving his face away from her to rest her forehead against his. She works her hips, sliding farther forward in his lap until she can feel the tip of him escape from beneath her, bouncing against her right cheek. Keeping a steady gaze on his, she whispers the ritual words again and slides back, lifting herself up to guide him inside. Draco takes the cue, focused on her face but fisting the base of his cock to keep it steady. She gasps as she lowers, as Draco hisses, eyes falling tightly closed.

"Oh my fucking Gods..."

She couldn't agree more. He feels exquisite. Perfect. And then he moves, and it's even better. Draco grinds up against her, his pelvis lifting from the tile bench under the water. Hermione sits up tall, arching her back and looking down at him, watching his face and drinking in the awe in his eyes. She rocks her hips in answer to his, settling into a steady but slow rhythm. He's still watching her, intent and worshipful, and it makes her breath catch.

Hermione lays one hand against his neck, thumb tracing the strong line of his jaw, the tip of his chin, once so pointy and vampiric, now filled out and so very attractive. She lowers her face and drops a kiss on his lips, the corner of his mouth, and nips at his chin playfully. "You're so handsome," she says, hardly even meaning to. She almost regrets it, feeling a power balance shift between them, afraid of the mockery or smirked over-confidence sure to follow their freedom, but he responds by taking her face in his hands and kissing her hard, pounding more forcefully into her. So perhaps it wasn't a mistake at all.

Maybe none of this is a mistake. She started this so completely sure she was heading toward a fallout. Perhaps an awkward leaning to their fragile friendship. At worst, the possibility of their civil truce coming to an end and finding her once again on the wrong side of his ridicule. The possessive grip of his fingers digging into her curls, the tender movement of his tongue, coaxing her into another kiss, tells a different store altogether.

Maybe this is the best damn thing that could have happened.

His body grows tense beneath her, thrusts slightly more erratic. In response, she slows her own movements, nearly lifting off of him again. He tries to pull her back down, hands back onto her hips, but she shakes her head at him. "Not yet. I need a little more."

"What do you need?" His attention alone, the earnest and desperate urgency in his words, moves her closer to her own finish.

"Your mouth again," she tells him, arching her back for emphasis. "I liked when you took me in your mouth."

Without hesitation, he circles over her peak once again, his tongue flicking over her within the warm space of his open mouth. She lowers back down, allows him to thrust into her, and snakes her hand down to her clit.

He must feel her, the back of her fingers ticking his stomach, because he pauses and looks down, watching. "Gods, fuck you, Granger. How am I supposed to hold off, watching you do that?"

His continued veneration brings her that much closer. With her free hand, she grips the back of his head and pulls him toward her again. "More," she whispers. And he does, returning to task and lapping at her, He's impossibly hard, stretching her and moving with a steady cadence. She encourages him with whimpers and moans and muttered praise of, "yes" and "just like that".

Eventually, he tears himself away from her again, searching out her glazed eyes with his own. "I can't... fuck, tell me you're close."

She can only nod, bouncing harder against him, water sloshing over the rim of the bath. "Close," she manages. "The words... with me."

He stutters out a rough version of the bastardized Latin, Hermione joining him halfway through. He repeats as does she, until they are both panting it at each other, in sync, powerful. Magic swirls, glowing around them and shooting into the room as they recite the short mantra and the pressure within her builds, climbs, reaches, and BREAKS like waves against rough shore.

Draco holds her close, hands wrapped around her and roaring his own release into her neck as her body twitches and quakes in his arms.

Not that Hermione is flush with sexual experience, two fumbling partners in her history, but she's rocked by the power of her climax. She is breathless, heart pounding, and clings to Draco, hands gripping his wet back as she nearly sobs into his neck.

"Incredible," he's saying. "You're fucking incredible." His voice is rough, and he places wet kisses into the crook of her shoulder, tongue flicking at her skin like a tired kitten.

Hermione looks up over his shoulder, the shimmer of unbreakable wards vanished and the door slightly creaked open, a glow of warm light from a corridor sconce chasing shadow across the floor.

Slow, careful movements, and she is leaned back, looking down at his flushed face, hair a mess where she slid her fingers through it, skin glistening with droplets from the bath. "Shall we?"

He seems surprised for a moment, then glances over his shoulder. When he looks back, he offers a careful smile. "It worked," he observes, and she replies with a huff of mock annoyance.

"Of course it did. I'm excellent at research."

"You're excellent at a lot of fucking things, witch," he says back with a bit of a leer, and the praise makes her blush in spite of what they've already done.

Gingerly, she lifts off of him, dropping back down into the warm, fragrant water, a relaxed sigh slipping through her lips.

"We could stay here, if you'd rather." His voice drifts to her through the haze of euphoria. She smiles and shakes her head as she pulls away her hair tie. Curls come loose of their confines and drip down around her shoulders, floating on the water's surface.

"No, thank you. I believe we discussed moving this to a bed?"

"You can't possibly expect me to be ready again," he says, and she laughs softly, eyes still closed.

"A nap then," she offers, but it overlaps with his blurted, "Let me take you to dinner."

That perks her right up. Hermione lifts from the water to stare at him, finding his eyes wide like he can't believe he asked. She's fairly surprised herself. "Dinner?"

Draco looks away. "I mean, we've not had real food all day."

A grin splits her face. "Are you asking me out?"

Pouting at what he must perceive as her teasing, Draco lifts himself from the water, half hard cock on proud display, and moves to exit the bath. My, my, he is quite something. She licks her lips as he grouses.

"Forget it. I was thinking it might be nice after… just, after."

Hermione moves to follow, though finds herself a bit more self-conscious to simply pop out of the water completely starkers. "Could you toss me my robes please?"

She expects a quip, perhaps a bit of teasing that she would ride him yet then feel the need to cover up, but he simply snatches the garment and lays it closer to the edge of the bath. She mutters a 'thank you' that he doesn't acknowledge.

With a huff, she climbs out, simultaneously covering herself and then wringing out her drenched curls. "Draco?"

He grunts in response, concentrating very hard on doing up the buttons of his shirt. It sticks to his wet skin, but he seems singularly focused on dressing as quickly as possible. Hermione frowns. Things were going so well. Is he really that sensitive? Well, Hermione has very little time for over-sensitive misunderstandings, so she does what she does best: plows over the moment with bossy plan-making.

"Where are we going?"

"To sleep, I imagine," he says, quite pouty.

"To eat, you clod. Where are we going to _eat_?" she says again, ennunciating very clearly. When he finally looks up from this shirt, last button not quite reached, she raises her brow expectantly.

"Er, to eat?"

"Merlin, Malfoy, you can't just offer to take a witch to dinner and then have no plan." She goes about gathering her things, slipping her skirt on beneath her robes and casting drying charms on her undergarments, ignoring the dumbstruck expression on Draco's face. "But, I suppose I'm somewhat accustomed. I always have to plan with Harry and Ron, you know. Of course you know. It's all the _Prophet_ can seem to talk about with me. Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl with the plan. Ridiculous. Nothing for it, then. Probably not Rosmerta's. And not for the reason you're thinking, either. I just happen to think her service is deplorable. Hogshead maybe? Aberforth is a bit rough, but his ingredients are fresh, and he has a pretty heavy pour if you've a mind to drink. I prefer wine myself. My mother started me on that appreciation early. Aberforth doesn't have much of a selection, but he does keep a nice Italian red on hand-"

"Granger."

If she could have counted down in her head, she would have been right on time. Droning on tends to drive others to action far more effectively than nagging for results. She hums in reply, inviting him to continue.

"Maybe... what if we just ran down to the kitchens? Grab something to take to the grounds?" Her smile grows wide.

"Even better. Or maybe the Heads dorm? We have that lovely dining area we hardly ever use. Maybe we can just have a private date."

He answers with a somewhat wary and confused smile, and replies back carefully, "If that's what you'd like."

"Definitely," she confirms with a bold nod. One more swish of her wand, and her curls dry themselves. The result is not as attractive as drying them by more natural means, but he's already seen her quite disheveled and didn't seem to have any complaints. She levels him with a bright smile and offers her hand. "Shall we?"

In the moment after, as Draco hesitates, all of her bravado almost crashes down. What if he doesn't take her hand? What if he's afraid to be seen walking with her? Hermione's smile starts to falter and still he doesn't accept her offering.

Just as she thinks to cancel the entire thing and stomp back to her room alone, he steps forward and, instead of grasping her hand, offers his elbow and guides her hand to wind through the crook.

"I have an amazing bottle of Nero d'Avola in my trunk I smuggled from our wine cellar. Let's see what the elves can dig up in the way of a nice beef dish."

She thinks that sounds rather perfect, and nods assent. Not to mention, she's nearly naked beneath her robes and a quick getaway to their dorm is definitely in order.

She looks up at him as he glances down at her, and Hermione feels her heart pick up its pace. No matter that they've already made it to 'homebase' as the Muggles are wont to say, this flirtatious Draco is still enough to send her reeling. She is still gazing at him, following along and hardly watching where she's walking, trusting him to guide her.

He leads her expertly through the corridors, and they are in a familiar hall, almost back to their dorm, when Draco slows and Hermione snaps back to attention.

Ahead of them, and walking with purpose their way, is a rather pinched and put-out looking Headmistress McGonagall.

"There you two are. I am more than aware you are known for some foolish adventure-seeking, Miss Granger, but I was surprised you could convince Mister Malfoy along for your scheme." She looks at their arms, Hermione's hand laying on Draco's sleeve, and back up with her eyebrow raised, lips pursed. "Or perhaps it didn't take too much convincing at all."

Feeling like a teenager caught necking in a car park, Hermione pulls her hand away and clasps her arms behind her back. With as much innocence as she can muster, she asks, "Adventure?"

"The Prefects' washroom, Miss Granger, or did those wards vanish on their own? I assume you two took it upon yourself to put your research into action." At what must be surprise on their faces, she comments, "You didn't imagine any ward at this school was not detected by the Head office, did you? I felt it the moment they broke. I had hoped," she goes on, "that you might see fit to notify me, but it seems you were not on your way to my tower."

Further shamed, Hermione blanches. She honestly had not thought to let anyone know, preoccupied as she has been with luring Draco back to their room and potentially having her wicked way with him again. If he can get out of his own way enough to let her. It seemed to be going well enough on that front before they were caught out.

"Apologies, Headmistress." Draco is smooth and slick, everyone's favourite Head Boy. Hermione has experienced him at the depths of cruelty and the heights of desire, all raw emotion, but always real. She recognizes this as the face he wears for the benefit of others. "We were rather exhausted from the ritual and hoped to have a bit of dinner and a lie down before seeking you out."

"Yes, I imagine whatever was required was terribly draining. How did you manage to break the wards?"

And without consultation, thinking, or planning, both blurt out decisively, "Blood magic," and then glance at each other with relief.

McGonagall's lips purse so far together they virtually disappear. "While not strictly forbidden, I trust you know not to muck about with ritual blood magic in the future."

"Of course," Hermione throws out quickly. "We were very careful."

"Indeed," is the woman's reply. She eyes them before finally stepping to the side. "Off with you then. I'm sure you'd like to...unwind a bit after your rather trying day."

They pass by her, Hermione feeling her face go scarlet. There is something all-knowing in McGonagall's gaze that sets her teeth on edge.

In the privacy of their room, Hermione falls against the door as it closes and lets out a breath.

"Think she knows?" Draco is looking at her with a bit of mischief in his grey eyes as he asks, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and suddenly Hermione's bravery is back in full force.

Striding toward him, Hermione throws her arms around his neck, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, and pulls him down to her quite forcefully. "Who cares." And she kisses him hard as he wraps his own hands around her back, settling at the top of her bum and drawing her pelvis against his.

The bottle of red goes unopened, but Draco tells her they can enjoy it another night. Laying beside him hours later, she tells him that sounds wonderful. "And breakfast tomorrow?"

Draco rolls onto his side, scooping her closer and laying delicate open mouthed kisses on the tops of her breasts. "You're joining me at the Slytherin table, obviously."

Distracting as he is, she doesn't think that seems obvious at all. "Why don't you come sit with me at Gryffindor?"

He snorts, which is terribly unappealing, but then that thing with his tongue makes up for it, and she arches her back. "Fine," she concedes, won over by his implied argument in spite of herself. "Maybe not the best idea. Compromise? We can sit with Luna at Ravenclaw."

"Done. Crazy witch probably knew we were going to shag before we did," he quips, and Hermione smacks at him but can hardly argue. He's probably right. Hermione might not put much stock in Seeing or Divination or the charting of stars, but right now it feels like all roads lead to Draco Malfoy.

As his lips land on hers and she shifts to pull him over, cradled between her thighs, she thanks the fates and the stars she doesn't believe in and accepts where her magic has led her.

**Author's Note:**

> So much adoration to LadyKenz who gave me the most lovely art as inspiration for this piece. 
> 
> I cannot thank my team enough on this one. In Dreams, Mcal, and Lightofevolution are invaluable people snd I am so lucky to have them as my pre-read partners 
> 
> To the readers, I hope you enjoyed our collaboration! Thank you for being here and drop a comment if you are so inclined! 
> 
> With love, Kyo


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